The Song of a Young Soldier on Watch
by Than Dance-for-Me
Summary: [Jonmon AU-World War I] Wounded in combat, the young soldier Jon traumatized by war finds satisfaction in violence that Dr. Damon called love. [Damon Dance-for-Me/Jon Snow] [Ramsay Bolton/Jon Snow]
1. Chapter 1

Idk but all this is inspired by a photoshoot of Vinnie Woolston

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 **The Song of a Young Soldier on Watch**

The men sprang from the trenches like rats, the sound of boots hitting the ground could not exceed the roars of the bombs colliding on the same. The legs were not moving as fast as they should, perhaps by starvation, exhaustion or the cold but were slow and not very laborious. The arms were bent at the chest height and the rifles were exposed to the young Germans.

He was in the front, shaking of course what else could he do? The trench was not a big deal, but it ressguarded him from the destructive claws of the war. The mountains of earth could protect you from bullets, as long as you bend enough to cover you completely; and now that was impossible, his whole being was exposed, in danger and too scary. It was a fear that had never before imagined, were the good old days which led him to take such a decision, What stupid mind could want with such care to be part of such a war? His certainly, the mind of a naive child who just wanted glory, a child of bad blood that estimated that in that way he would be remembered. At some point he wished it with all his heart and were matters of days with the bursts of the explosives as unique view in the sky to know that nothing can get there, nothing but panic, desperation and hunger, with so much luck a quick death.

His death was anything but quick. The bullet pierced his belly with such intensity that when feeling it he was already slumped on the ground. He looked at his companions leave and other fall very close to him. His hands oppressed the thin layer of meat in his abdomen and covered the wound, the blood was the hottest thing he felt until then. He raised his eyes to the sky, what did he expect? Like the first day, the sky was a portrait in grayscale, in a way it was nice for the time of death.

When inhaling for the last time a tickle invaded him, it was annoying and painful as if it were a thousand needles pricking his body and muscles. He allowed the pain to harass him, it was better to feel something when diying. He closed his eyes and tried that his last dream was at the mansion on Winterfell, full of snow, cold and hot at the same time, and of laughter and smiles.

He tried and failed, his dream was in black, an icy black.

"He awoke. He has woken up, Doctor!"

The voice of a woman danced through his ears, his eyelids managed to unstuck after it disappeared. He had to blink more than twice so he could capture true and legible images. His stealthy fingers went to his belly, they were dismayed when touching the bandages and returned.

"Good morning, Sir Snow."

He cocked his head to the doctor, he was a young and attractive man, a gift for the glare of the nurses, although not as much as it would be Robb. He had clear eyes, green one could deduce; golden hair as the sun and as long as the maids had; tall, he will probably take him two heads, and thin, the greenish outfit was coupled to his silhouette. The voice was soft and sweet as honey in the tea, he could not understand the first words for the buzzing in his ears.

"How do you feel?"

"How should I feel, Doctor? I do not feel anything."

He doesn't feel anything at all, even a little twinge in the wound. In the next stretcher was a boy without arms, that should be much more painful than a simple bullet crashing into the meat. He was one of the lucky few, he could ensure that it was luck.

"That's good." The doctor smiled at him, he had white as snow teeth. "Can you sit? Let me check you out. "

He gnashed the teeth when stretching his back and moves his hips. His back was coupled to the wall, the irons of the back of the stretcher touched the half of this, hurting and frozing it. The doctor sat beside his pelvis and waited to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt to support the stethoscope on his chest.

"Breathe deeply." He did it slowly, failed in the first instance. "Again." He repeated it, this time with greater success. "Well, you are in perfect condition, Sir Snow."

He accommodated his shirt when he was released, in that moments he didn't appreciate the closeness. "How long have I been here?"

"A month."

At least he could brag that lasted much more in the war. In those three months he did nothing but tremble by hunger and the icy of the night, and complain about the low of his decision, how stupid he was and how sorry he was.

"I-I will have to return to war?"

He could not go back, no, he will no longer have the strength or the necessary spirit. The glory that he would gain by fighting for England wasn't enough. Just by thinking it a chill run down his spine and paralyzed him.

"Not right now, you just wake up and you need to continue resting." The doctor approached to him, much closer. The fingers were adjusted to his jaw, straightening his face. "Open your mouth, Sir."

His tongue was pressed by the clapboard that entered deep into his mouth, he was about to vomit, but coughed when the air was all that invaded him. The nurse left when hearing the heavy breathing of the soldier from beside.

"You'll know, Sir, more and more soldiers end up here and there are few resources at our disposal. And I have no freedom to allow you to continue resting here, you see, we are not able to keep stable soldiers." The doctor said slowly. "But do not worry, you do not have to return to the battlefield. You can relax with your family, do you have any way to contact them?"

"I have no family ... not alive."

He was a bastard but still had a family. His father, Lord Eddard Stark died years ago by the flu, at least so diagnosed the Lannisters. His brother Robb died in battle, he was not one of the lucky ones. Catelyn was weakened by the sadness that cornered her with the losses, although he did not feel appreciation for that woman his heart ached when remembering her. The beautiful Sansa was engaged to the Prince Joffrey, she was not in the best hands but had a better life. The littles, Arya, Bran and Rickon were staying with Lady Lysa Tully. None of those places were for him.

"And I guess you will not have money, right?" He denied shaking his head with triviality. "Of course. Then how do you think it would be seen to abandon a wounded soldier on the street?"

"It depends on whom you ask. How would you see it?"

"Well, I would see it fine. But would not be a shame to abandon such beauty?" The doctor smiled. "I could help you to get a place, I live a few blocks from here. You can stay as long as you want or until they ask for you again, and you will have me there, I can be aware of your health. Of course only If it seems right for you."

"Would not it be much trouble? It's the first time I see you and I'm no one important, there is no need to protect myself. I would not mind to return to war, I have friends there, well, those who are not dead."

His body shrank against the wall and meanwhile shook his pelvis backward adjusting it to the backrest and moving away from the other by a mere instinct. The doctor bent down to him, he was so close that the only perimeter he was getting was that of that pale face. The palms were fitted in his flushed cheeks, his eyes descended. He understood that the war changed the people, he could blush with greater ease like a maid.

"It would not be a bother for me, I've been watching you for a month and with that should be enough."

He accepted, accepted in some unknown way. He did not remember, he just knew that he was already attached to it. He would achieve get some money before having to return, an employer devoid would require of a bastard who did nothing but tremble in the trenches. In the mansion Stark never allow any servant to attend him, he was used to the work and he did not get tired so easily.

The nurse helped him to stand, she was as young as Sansa, not as pretty but it was still pleasing. He staggered when being for the first time standing, if the arms of the nurse hadn't surrounded his back he would be located on the floor. She changed his bandages, his flesh was pressed between the new.

"Good night, Doctor."

"Good night, sweetheart. Try to relax."

The doctor looked over his shoulder, he hurried to catch him up. The sky was different to the last witnessed, of a dark color and filled with bright stars, the moon round was planted at one end. The streets in contrast to the trenches were filled with joy, consistent in the shouting.

"There is a fair in the square, we can go tomorrow do not you think?"

"If it is not a nuisance for you."

He used to concur to the fairs with his brothers, sisters and Theon. He wondered where the latter would be found. They also used to return late at night and being scolded by Lord Eddard.

"By the way, what's your name?"

"You can call me Damon." He responded as he light a cigarette, the smoke of the first inhalation made him cough and that caused the laugh of the contrary.

"You are young and in shape, why are not you in the battlefield, Damon? What are you, a coward?"

"Coward? Would you like that?" Damon exhaled the smoke in his face. "I would like to be there but I can not, my lungs are not so young nor are in shape."

"But you smoke, maybe you do it on purpose. You are scared, right?"

Damon smiled slyly and threw the cigarette. "You know nothing, Sir Snow."

The following three blocks they walked in silence, the lights of the fair were just as intense as the lightnings of the bombs. The jingle of keys was so harmonious as the whistle of the aircraft surpassing the heights. The door moved giving way to the inner darkness, Damon reached out with a gesture.

"Welcome to my world. Sorry to be small, it will improve with the end of the war."

The lights came up after both entered. Make yourself at home, he could never feel comfortable anywhere else other than the Stark mansion. His fingers moved restlessly and with paused steps pursued Damon until he gestured to take a seat. He did not think it as a small house, the living room was much larger than the room in which he woke up.

"It must be weird for you, right? Your whole life living in a mansion and now in this little shack." Damon rested his arms on the table and crossed his right leg over the left, tilting his back. "I have a mansion too, my friend has one to be exact. If you feel suffocated here I could take you there, you'll be home."

"I do not always lived in a mansion, I spent three months in a trench."

"That does not count. So, mansion man I must warn you that there are no servants here so oneself must do everything. And that's why I have to set certain rules."

And there he was, maybe that was why he hated so much talking or get involved, a brake was always generated for any action. He did not mind the rules, with anteriority he could have affirmed with more confidence. He settled his elbow on the table and his cheek on the palm, the fingers extended across his face and his eyes narrowed, he would try not to fall asleep.

"As for the food, you know that the economy is now being attacked? I could feed us both but I think it's more than just that everyone earn his grain, do not you think?"

"No, I will not have money in a month and with luck. How could that be fair? Not even I had followed you if informed before, I prefer return to war."

"Oh, come on! Do not be dramatic! You'll have a job, I'll give you one. Do you think I would be so evil? Did you think you really I would leave you without eating? Do I not look like a good host? You have a very bad impression of me." Damon had a long smile and was little upset. "You will work for me and I will feed you, you will always be here, comfortable and warm."

"Are you saying that I will be your servant?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, I would not call it that. I think you will be better with the nickname of bitch."

He did not reply, he could have risen abruptly and get away, he chose to remain still and watch as his fingers slid down the table. Gradually they reached, climbed his collarbone to his chin. He straightened his back, he pursed his lips and frowned.

"You have a pretty face, do not you think it would be appropriate to take advantage of it? I will make you rich if you give me your services."

"Since when do you want this?"

"From the first day. It was a cold evening and you came, dying and bleeding, How could I resist such charm? And I saw every night before leaving and just returned early in the morning. You were there, resting without any concern. I touched your lips so many times but nothing else, it would not be fun if you so not put resistance. "

It was disgusting to hear, no, it was not. "I will not be what you want."

"Yes, I thought so ." His face was taken to the other, his eyes tried not to be so locked on Damon. "And I'm afraid that you will not eat and you can not be comfortable nor warm. I've told you what the rules are and I will not change them. Now come with me, I'll show you your place here."

He accompanied him without complaint, he would bear one night and In the morning would leave. Would get a place on which stay until having to return to the cruel war, he wanted to believe that it would be easy. He was taken to the last room and then to the back garden, was nothing more than a pile of dirt and timids proportions of grass.

"I'll sleep here?"

"I did not made it clear? Of course, you'll sleep here. This room is free for you."

Damon took the chains wrapped on the corner, he shuddered with the chime. He moved backward as the other approached to him, he stopped when having his back cornered against the wall and Damon sighed. His hands plunged in the opposite chest, intended to move it away without using force.

"Still, do not make it harder for you." He said and wrapped his neck with the chains, that squeezed his skin but not the needed to take his breath away. "Try not to take it off, you will not make it and I do not want you to have marks."

Damon pulled the chain and forced him to leave. He tied the other extreme to the nearest tree, he still do not conceived the repulsion but he felt the disease that tickled his stomach, making him feel vulgar. If he could feel the repulsion everything would be more relaxing when resisting.

"The night is long, Sir Snow, think it again. I will not let you go until you have thought about that again. Just think about it."

Damon kissed his forehead before abandoning him and submit him to the mercy of the stars and the coldness of the night.

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 _I am curious and I wonder if anyone has any fancast for Damon... I need one._


	2. Chapter 2

He was curled up on the floor when Damon returned. The morning heat kept his skin bristled as did the cold of the night. His eyes opened lazily, his body went numb and his clothes got dirty with earth. A pull of the chain forced him to bend his knees, he chuckled when resting his hands on his thighs.

"I hope you have been able to sleep, Sir Snow. And to think, of course."

Damon's shoe was positioned between his legs, separating them and fitting into the tiny gap. The tip embedded in the joining section of his belly and pelvis, and the heel pressed his crotch. Greater force was exerted on his member, the shoe was moving in both directions.

"You will be hungry, right?" The answer was a shriek that was expelled with the help of pressure. "You know what you should do if so it is, should I repeat it?"

"I already know it."

Damon untied the chain of the tree and shortened the space it gave him. He pulled putting him standing abruptly, his feet moved at a time and had had his face on earth if the opposite's arms hadn't sheltered him. Damon's heat quickly invaded him, calming his pain in the bones.

"Come with me, I will cook something for you."

He followed him stealthily, his steps were marked by the other's and by the power with which the chain was yanked. The chain rubbed the skin of his neck causing him an irritating annoyance, he forced it several time before yielding to sleep and all he got was that his neck reddened and prickle. The discomfort caused lasted much more than his faltering dreams, the wind sweeping away the trees woke him every time he remembered the days in the trenches. That night was similar, though the bombs did not explode every five minutes nor had to endure fatigue.

For a second he thought that being there was better. In the recruitment they always sweetened the ears of young people with heartwarming stories but in the battlefield it was all very different, there were nothing but a bag of youth which had the necessary strenght to kill the enemy. A tree in which being chained was a more feasible option.

"Get on your knees." Damon ordered in the kitchen. He did not obey, kept his neck raised and his legs stretched, holding him in the air. "I have to repeat it? I do not like to repeat."

His complaint was just a squeezing of teeth. His legs agreed fast and his knees dug into the dusty ground. He noted what he did so much time after his nails scratched his clothes and they organized themselves in his thighs.

"Good boy." Damon stroked his hair and smiled. "I have news for you, remember that big dog you had in battle?"

"Ghost." He muttered.

He never wanted to take it to that situation but there was no possibility of separating it. Robb advised it to make a place in war, whether death will reach it would be more honorable to be defending England and not lying in a corner of the mansion filled of sadness and loneliness. Ghost had his brothers and would not be alone, however, like him, the integration was not his main strength.

"Yes, Ghost. They found it injured, he lost a foreleg."

"Where is it?" He wanted to know with too much energy, maybe he still have something of his life before the war.

"Quiet, Sir. He is okay, they're treating him with love. You want to see it? I could bring it here for you, I have room for another dog, and you will not be alone when I have to leave. Would you want that?"

"Yes, I want it."

"Is that the way to ask?"

He licked his lips and nibbled the lower. "Please, Sir."

"Good boy, good boy. You see? If you behave you can achieve a lot."

His cheek was caressed and cocked his head in the opposite direction to reject it. Damon walked to the table, took some onions, tomatoes, carrots, peppers and meat. When gripping the knife he turned, adjusting the hip to the edge of the table and pointing at him with the knife.

"Do you like pork, Sir Snow?"

"Why are you still referring to me as Sir but treat me like your dog?"

"Well, I like dogs and I'm good with them. And you think that for not having a tail you're not a dog?" He sighed the question. "You continue without knowing anything, Sir Snow."

Damon came closer the necessary to crouch in front of him. He unbuttoned the top button of his jacket, his hands covered his fingers and had intended to push him away if Damon's eyes had not given him that look. A shiver made him put his hands to his sides.

He did not resist and stretched his arms to make the jacket be stripped out. He could have made some move, had his hands free and could use them, how was good in the melee. And he also could simply sit still, he liked to watch Damon's eyes and the thin lips he possessed.

The knife was located in the beginning of the union of his shirt and began to cut the fabric. The tip scraped his skin and his shirt being torn arched his back. With the appearance of his skin, bandages and the little color change in the area of the wound was left to appreciate.

Damon continued with his trousers, tore the fabric from the inner sides of his thighs and pulled it reddening his skin. Finally, his member was released and the red tone settled on his cheeks. He gathered his legs as much as he could and wrapped his arms between his pelvis, shrugged in his place causing the laughter from the other.

"Now you look like a dog." He frowned when raising his eyes. "You want to intimidate me? Was not this what you wanted? I'll treat you like a dog as you want and you'll look like one."

Damon turned a chair, when sitting crossed his legs and contracted his belly, curving his back. It was now when he regretted not having used his hands, would not it be a shame to leave such beauty? The war would satisfy if one would always be in the presence of that doctor, although not like this, seeing from afar and appreciating the complexity in a broader context, one that would not cause humiliation.

"You blush like a lady, is it for me? Should I get happy?" Damon licked his teeth. "I was thinking I'd have to make you pay for the food anyway, I did not think to do it only this time but I think that you don't deserve such kindness yet. You are a disrespectful child and you must learn. And you should thank that i will not charge you for sleeping in my yard."

He would have laughed, Damon was funny once in a while. Still had some numb muscles from sleeping on the ground and his skin marked by it. A few bones were hardened by kneeling and with a minimum movement one after another rustled.

"Come here, my little bad boy." Damon undocked his legs and balanced the height between them, slapped his thighs making him a gesture. "Come on, do not be shy."

His legs tickled when stabilizing, made a step at a time and slow, Damon's hands clinging to his arms were which made everything more quickly. His legs distanced around the other's with a slight pressure on his hip he sat on his thighs. Damon's thick hands articulate behind him, next to his shoulder blades.

"Open your mouth."

The fingers traveled to his chin and spread out over his lips. The nails scraped the outline of his lower lip, making him give a little jump when cutting a portion of the skin, and the yolks were at the beginning of both lips.

"Quick, open your mouth for me." He did it before the nails continue cracking his dry skin. "So, very well, good boy."

The fingers slide to his teeth. The nails rubbed his palate causing him discomfort in the nose. Saliva piled in his commissures and wet the fingers that were introduced, three until then. The nausea churned his stomach when the fingers began to reach his throat.

"You must be hungry, right? How much time passed since the last time you tried some meat?"

"A lot."

"I see." The fingers released his mouth, saliva droplets fell for each phalanx. "You will pay me? Or I'll have to keep waiting?"

He hesitated, he knew there was only one answer to that question and did not want to say it. His stomach growled and forced him to move toward the other, closer and closer. "I will do it."

Damon smiled, too much satisfied."You will not return to resist? You turned out to be an easy child, Jon."

Damon's fingers walked along his spine, redirecting to his nape and there settling in his hair. The last phalanges bent rolling the strands and tugging them so his neck will be completely visible and vulnerable.

"Are you a virgin, Jon? Has any man ever touched you? Will I the first?"

"The first."

"You honor me." The fingers brushed the bones of his windpipe. He swallowed and consequently increased the union of his neck with the yolks. "Then, I must treat you gently? Would you like that?"

"Y-yes. Please, Sir."

"You learn fast, that's good."

Damon kisses his chin, his moist lips descended down his neck. They disengage on the sides and turned to cluster with a minimum trace of his skin between them. Saliva formed the way in which the lips descended and teeth appearing lastly reaffirmed it with some abruptness.

The fingers caressed the inner sides of his thighs and connected to his cock just a few instances to harden it completely. The thumb crushed softly the tip and meanwhile the others spread across the trunk. He shuddered, a moan escaped between his teeth and a cold sensation corroded his bones with the first inclination the fingers taken.

His hands imprisoned Damon's shoulders, the fingers folded and the nails sunk. The way in which Damon raised his fingers was parsimonious and much more when he made them descend, and instead he pressed his skin with a specific resolution. His toes curled and his legs twitched, his dignity was not present at the time.

His hip was wiggled to his fingers, which acted with greater power. A few successive drowned moans kept his mouth open, saliva seeps through the commissures and ended on his chin. The compression of the fingers was deeper into the tip, they got wet with pre-cum and auxilied the humidity of the rest of his cock.

"Hold it, Jon. Try to stay still."

He tried to obey, he tried until he felt what he was doing. Damon smiled at him accordingly and his face continued enlarging the scale of red that inhabited in it. With the prominent ejaculation his composture didn't break and do as well provided to him some pleasure that added to the already obtained.

"Do you like this, Jon?" Damon licked his fingers and the remorse was dissipating the heat in his legs. "Will you not respond?"

"Yes, I like it, Sir."

His body does not respond at the moment the other hand squeezed the flesh of his butt and the fingers moved by the conjuncture of his buttocks. He took a long and deep breath, a first finger wandered around his entry and in the next second was found inside. His teeth crunched and a cry passed between them, the pain was all he managed to feel burning in his inside.

With the finger moving he couldn't resist it, his muscles tense and his hip throbbed. He did not remember such pain from the bullet lodged in his abdomen and his breathing was slowly suppressing. The introduction of a second finger conformed a higher pain than that of war, it was worse and took him away any ability to breathe or reasoning.

"Look at me, Jon." Damon held his face from his cheeks, accomodated him leaving both at the same height. The eyes raised idle and received the others. "So, good boy, look at me while I fuck you with my fingers."

Damon was looking excessively deep into his eyes and when doing the same he forgot the pain, , although returned stronger in the movement from inside to outside. Those moments where the pain won, his nails were embedded with the same strength in the shoulders and nibbled his lips to cause some imperceptible cuts.

"Please, Sir."

"Please what? If you don't talk clearly I can't understand you, Jon."

"Please ... no ... I do not wanna do this anymore, Sir."

"You do not want to keep this up? Oh, poor Jon, what makes you believe you have a right to want something?"

"Please, Sir, it hurts a lot." He begged, his tears were a few seconds of sprouting.

"Should not it? Of course it must be painful for you, Jon." Damon led his fingers deeper and demanded the cry that tore him his throat. "You are a bitch, do you remember? Bitches do not question and do what their customers want, and you have a customer who wants to see you in pain."

Despite the words Damon applied some mercy, the fingers went down with idleness and rose softly allowing to his inside to get used to them. At least this mechanism lasted a long minutes and then more strength and speed was applied. With much effort he managed to perceive pleasure in the flow of suffering.

A moan of delight stopped the cries and his pelvis was shook in accordance with the fingers. He liked the feeling that he enjoyed when become accustomed and open the fingers, and also sickened admitting it, admit it was nice to be treated like that and receive pleasure in that way that in his interior tried to hate.

"Will this be enough to please you, Jon? You should know that the pride of a man rests how has been pleased a slut and I want to have a great pride as for you. So tell me, what else can I do for you?"

He forgot the hunger to respond. "I want you to fuck me, Sir."

"I'm fucking you, Jon. I'm fucking you with my fingers, do not you notice?"

"Yes, but I want you to fuck me with all of you." Unlike Damon, he lost his pride in matters of seconds. "I want your cock inside me."

"Have you forgotten how things are ordered, darling?"

"Please do that, Sir."

His inside empty for a moment, the liberation was uncomfortable and cold. Damon held his lips on his as he unbuttoned his pants zipper. His mouth was delivered to the other, his lips didn't obstructed the introduction of the tongue and his teeth scraped it.

He felt Damon's hardened cock throbbing in his belly, near the dirty bandages for the humidity of his body. His lower lip was pressed between the opposed teeth as his thighs rose and his hip was handled by the hands of Damon. He gasped when having the tip of the cock brushing his entrance, his body trembled in someone else's control. When having it inside, his skin was torn and blood drenched both skins.

A spasm after another, like the cries that accompanied the penetration, and didn't succumbed until the onslaughts ended. Rough at times and by others soft, pleasure and pain did not match. With the delight his pelvis shook and in the discomfort he tried to stop any action.

Damon took advantage of the inability to close his mouth and tore his lower lip, the teeth went from one corner to another cutting the skin and the tip of his tongue was in charge of absorb the blood. And he could not make more than moan in mode of complain or demonstration of his delight.

"You did very well, Jon." Damon said slowly. He still had it inside him and his jaw dropped to the shoulder of this, the ejaculation stole the little energy he kept. "That deserves a big reward, do not you think?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you like the pork, Jon?"

"Yes, Sir."


	3. Chapter 3

Damon allowed him to wear clothes to go to the hospital, as long as he keep his promise of not trying to escape. For now he was fulfilling his promise, not even he complained or asked for help from the nurse Jeyne Poole, and that made Damon smile to him. Some faces were familiar and others new, he didn't stop so long in them, his head moved from one direction to the other trying to find Ghost.

"Do not worry, I will bring it."

Damon was kneeling in front of him, it was a tempting image. The bandages were removed from his skin slowly, a little moan wandered over his lips at the time the area of the wound was liberated. A piece of cotton was dipped in alcohol and leaned on his skin, the burning lasted a few short seconds. The chain was around his neck and from there covered his torso and belly, it was forming an X on the front part and was turning down his back, and was tied on his hip; the collar of his shirt covered the section in his neck so it did not blush every time someone watched him, only did when remembering it.

The skin was lifted around the one that covered the hole that was a set of wrinkled and hardened skin, it had a lighter color and gave him chills touching it. He simply covered it with his shirt and tried to take the great interest that provoked to him. The clothes he wore were of Damon so they were long and somewhat wider than his; they carried that smell of Damon too, it was cool and disgusting.

"Look, anxious child, here it is."

As tall and strong as ever, Ghost does not present any change, except the front left leg that disappeared. Anyway it was not a problem, the dog moved with ease and agility. And probably it looked much better than him. Without thinking he threw himself at Ghost and wrapped him in his arms, the abruptness made him falter and had to help him to stay stable. Feel the sewed stump made him shudder and the tongue dragging the skin of his cheek took a smile from him.

Waiting on the stretcher to Damon finishes his work. Jeyne at times brought pieces of raw meat to Ghost. He was ashamed to have her around, the smell that his body had was not the best and pierced the thin cloth that covered him, he smelled of dirt, sweat, sex and mainly Damon.

His stomach roared when seeing the meat, Damon had fed him with a thick piece of pork but it wasn't enough to satisfy his appetite, he wanted to receive more food and not have to pay for it, he could not resist as much as the last time and would surrender at the first sign, would have time to repent while chew and swallow.

"The fair will go tomorrow and I have the evening free, you want to go?"

"Yes, sir."

He followed Damon through the streets, his step was slow to be aware of Ghost that despite the efforts was still difficult. And he also wanted to hurry to reach Damon, wanted to let him know he was ready and would behave like a good boy. The blush grew more and more in his cheeks whenever Damon turned his face and watched him, and applied more energy to reach him. What was he doing? He really did not understand but anyway did everything that in his mind would prohibit.

"I was thinking we could buy some cotton candy or other sweet that you like, would you like?"

"Do I have to pay? Here?" He looked around, the trees stood at the beginning of the square and the darkness of the night was higher than the light coming from the other corner where the fair was held.

"Here? I would like." Damon said laughing. It did not sound like a joke nor had seriousness. "Do not be alarmed, I have well known the level of your stupid morality. You can pay me later. But do not get used, it will be just this once."

"Thank you, Sir."

Damon also bought caramel apples, he knew the payment was intensifying with every sweet that was offered and did not object to any of them. His fingers were sticking with candy, like on the palate of Ghost that licked incessantly trying to remove it. Damon introduced his fingers into his mouth to take a bit of apple, it was annoying and embarrassing the first time.

They stopped at the last game of the row, the manager gave him three light balls and indicated the vessels in which had to place them. Robb challenged him hundred of times in the same game and never managed to win. With the first failure had Damon behind him, he held his hip making him tremble by the chill that the breathing on his neck caused to him.

"Pay attention. You have to raise your hand up to your chin and concentrate on where you want to drop the ball. And only then you throw it, not before." He said allowing him to understand. "Try now."

He did as Damon taught him, and win. He did not deliberated too much and smiled. He was not thinking carefully, no, he did not until Damon got distracted by the game keeper. What was he thinking? He should have lost a few more seconds doing it but did not have enough time.

He gestured to Ghost with hands and ran without looking back. He dodged people, he could not be stopped by any, that would make him lose time and Damon would have him again. This way he would not get him, he would not risk among many people.

He quickened his pace in the area where the trees were creating shade and darkness blackened the way. Ghost trotted heavily so he waited until he was near and succored to continue through the trees. Blood was pumping in him as never before, his body was heating and his feet tickled by anxiety. What had he done? It was late to reconsider it and had already done it, bad, so bad. He was not afraid, he would never would have it with Damon, if he was in the best condition he would not have to pay or submit. He did not need it, being alone is what he needed.

"Oh, Jon! Where have you went?" Damon shouted. "I got your prize here! It's a cute little rabbit!"

He hid in a tree, his legs fell to the ground and his back was scraped in the bark as his body descended. He approached to Ghost when embracing him, he did not want to keep running, right now he wished he had not fled and that Damon take away some chewed apple pieces from his mouth. He would like to be next to Damon, after all he was nice and rewarded him with kindness as long as he pay and was obedient.

"Get out of anywhere you are! Jon! Do not make me repeat it, you will not like me repeat it!" Damon's tone changed with each new shout, louder and angry. "Quick, Jon! If you get out now I promise you that I will not hurt you much!"

The punishment he received so far was to spend a whole night chained to a tree. He managed to make an impression in his mind of what could be a real punishment, Damon had knives, chains and energy that was the main thing. Perhaps he would leave him without eating or mark him, he had a few marks on her neck.

"Ghost! Where are you , boy?" Ghost lifted its ears. "Come with me, boy! Help me find your master!"

Ghost began to howl, loud enough to be heard in ten blocks. He wanted to cover its nose and what he got was to push it away. "Shh, be quiet, he will find us."

And Damon found him. And he found Damon. He stroked its head to Ghost, this as well as him received with joy. However, he was not given the same love. His hair was pulled, putting him up. Damon moved the clothes and untied the turns that the chains gave in his belly.

"Sorry, Jon, there will be no bunny for you." Damon said dejected. "You've been a very bad boy and I have to punish you."

The chain tugged his neck and forced him to leave. Ghost showed his teeth and barked for a tiny moment before finishing jogging next to Damon. In the first blocks his fingers moved the chain from one direction to the other and in the rest he gave up, his legs were required to walk fast.

At home, Damon throws the end of the chain that held the floor and the impulse made him collapse too. Damon had his sight nailed at him, he swallowed by the pressure and reaffirmed his position when lifting his arms. The leg of Damon that went to his back settled him with his knees bent and his hands holding his body.

"Why did you do that, Jon?"

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Sorry? If you were sorry you had never done it." Damon crouched. Although the pressure on his back disappeared his position did not change. "Look at me, Jon. Yes, like that, good. I'll ask you again and I want you to answer correctly, why did you do that, Jon?"

"I do not know ... I do not know why I did it. I do not know. I'm sorry, Sir."

"You know that it will not be enough with a sorry Sir, right? I can not overlook your insolence and I must punish you for what you've done, you know that?" He claimed when shaked his head. "Very good."

Damon went to the dresser and rummaged in the drawer. He shuddered when seeing him with the gun between his fingers, which were coupled with the charm of the weapon. The pulling of the safety mechanism of the gun caused an electrifying sound and the long steps of Damon another. The index finger settled on the trigger, it bent a little just to make him despair.

"Look carefully and learn."

The gun did not point to his face or any part of his body, on the contrary it looked to Ghost. He could react long after the finger take the trigger back and the suffocating roar launched the bullet. His eyes opened wide, blood adorned the floor beside the body of Ghost that collapsed and so wet the white fur.

Exasperated he crawled to the only thing that remained of his life, tears began to moisten his eyes and blur his vision. It was still warm and much more in the right eye where the bullet hit it. His face leaned on it and remembered the first day he had it at his side, the first time it failed to obey him and the first time that breaking the rule of Lady Catelyn gave it some chicken under the table. Ghost hundred of times saved his life in battle, he was always there at the right time, and he only had a chance, he never did it.

"Poor boy, it was good and I liked him." Damon said when returning the gun to the dresser drawer, the smoke was still wafting through the opening. "Do not cry, Jon, I did this for you."

Damon knelt down, grabs his cheeks and took of the skin the soft fur that was wet with the passing of the seconds. The drops of tears were sliding down for the drag of the fingertips on his eyelids. No matter what happens, the body heat of Damon was always so damn perfect and comforting that way he hated.

"I did not want this." He protested. "I did not want you to do this."

"What you did made me do it, Jon. I had to do it for you to learn that you are mine and can not leave me, because if you leave me I will kill myself."

"I want you to die."

Damon laughed. "You do not understand, if you leave me I will seek for you and kill you, only after that I will kill myself." He kissed his forehead and for a fuzzy minute he sniffed his hair. "Now remove those tears from your eyes and go to the sofa, I want you to pay me. Quick, Jon."

He looked one last time Ghost's stiff body before the chains marked his slow walk. He sat on the couch, lifting his knees and curling himself, rested his face in the space between them. He tilted his head to see what Damon would do, this brought the knife from the kitchen, and did not care what would happen to him.

"You know, Jon? I was thinking about what you said in the kitchen and it's true, you do not look at all like a dog. But I also thought that I could fix that, I can make you look like a dog. And besides, what we have here, would not it be a shame to waste it?"

Nausea swept through his energies when seeing Damon cutting Ghost's tail. He clenched his teeth so that the bile couldn't stain his knees, he did not look until the end, without power he hid his head between his thighs and waited. He waited too much, the noises confused him and did not know what was really happening.

He knew all the time that Damon sat on the couch and approached him. In one hand he held the tail of Ghost, the end that at one time was connected to the body now was burned, and in the other carried a piece of thread and needle. And a smile on his lips, a wet one that he gave to him in special occasions.

"Put your torso on my lap and show me your butt, Jon."

His palms rested on the sofa and his nails dug into the fabric, his torso rested on the thighs of Damon and his legs took some height. Damon sighed when descending his pants to his knees and caress his skin made him shiver. The fingers deepened the caresses in the area of his skin that gave union to the beginning of his butt and the end of his hip.

"Breathe deeply, Jon, I promise that this will hurt."

The needle pierces his skin, he screamed and writhed, Damon's hand was squeezing the meat of the back of his thigh to immobilize him. The needle moved beneath his skin, making two holes in it that were enlarged by the sliding of the thick thread. Later, he continued in the tail and returned to his skin, pulling of the thread and joining each of the sections.

The pain was the same one that he will get in hell. It was more and more endless whenever the needle retuned to the hollow that previously created. His flesh burned with the flow of the thread and the blood flowed in all directions. In a few seconds it was just a mess of blood, flesh, torn skin, screams and sobs.

"Please ... no more, Sir!"

All his toes bent around the softness of the sofa, his legs were attacked again and again by spasms. His teeth squeaked to the point that could break, he was screaming high hurting his throat and none of them could affect Damon. The pain increased when shaking, his hip was pure suffering.

With the humming of Damon gave up his battle to the pain and his screams stopped. By keeping still, Damon rewarded him with sweet caresses on his thighs, although the discomfort placated any signs of pleasure. He appreciated not feeling good about it, there would not be a sane place to feel that.

"Well, you've done very well, Jon." The needle moved away from his flesh and could breathe calmly. "It's done, now you're a dog."

Damon's hands on his waist helped him to stabilize, he was kneeling without the capacity to move his hips and legs. Damon carefully examined his creation, the pupils were dilating and his smile widened. He licked his teeth and realized he did not pay enough.

Damon turned him slowly and delicate, there was no pain. Scratched the wall and tried not to scream when the tail was moved to one side. Damon was much closer, he felt the crotch throbbing on his butt. The hands traveled down his spine and settled in his neck, entangling his hair and pulling of them. Damon's wet lips burned his ear.

"How do you ask?"

"Please fuck me, Sir."

* * *

 **Sorry Not Sorry**


	4. Chapter 4

The shovel stuck again and again on earth, the mound that was formed on the side was getting wider and higher. Sweat ran along the forehead of Damon, he was nestled between the tree looking how the veins contracted at work. He closed his eyes when the body of Ghost was thrown to the hole and earth covered it.

He did not complaint about the decision of Damon, he understands and did not show any grimace. His hip was still weak and when leaning on earth the pain intensified, taking of him the right to sleep. At first he tried to tear the tail but quit a few seconds, after he failed to endure the discomfort and his strength had not been enough to cut the threads. The burning was throbbing, the blood stuck to the skin and when he moved it tugged.

He shook his legs removing the earth of his knees when Damon allowed him to enter the house. He waited until he arrived with the food sitting on his knees and with his palms resting on his thighs. From the distance he could sense that they were leftovers from the night before, which of course he did not eat for his insolence.

"Are you hungry?"

He did not answer, at night he had promised to himself that he would not talk to him. He strove to at least look at his face, the anger running through his veins dis not consent to give him another type of signal. Damon sat beside him, his stomach growled when he saw the cold piece of meat and potatoes. He licked his lips, would expect to be given permission, would not beg, would prefer that his skin stuck to his bones before having to beg to that man.

He took the fork and looked for the knife, he found it between the fingers of Damon. He pulled his gaze the moment when Damon looked up at him and noticed his intention. "Were you looking for this? I do not think you have enough conditions to use it. I'll be good with you and I will cut your meat, How would you prefer it? Would you like me to do stupid things before moving it into your mouth or directly do it?"

"I'd rather cut the meat for myself." He said almost in a whisper. "Sir."

"What meat would you rather cut?" Damon smiled, he had read his intentions completely. "Are you angry with me, Jon?"

"You killed Ghost."

"I told you, I have not killed him, you killed him."

"No, I did not pull the damn trigger!" He cried, he really was encouraged to do so. He noticed it much later and anyway did not repent of it. "It was my dog, my best friend. You had no right, you're nobody to do that."

"And you're mine. I would do anything to have you at my side, I would eliminate any nuisance to you don't leave me and I would let you with nothing to be all you need, you know that, Jon?"

Damon ran his fingers through his hair, coming down by his cheek and adjusting the palm between it and the thumb on his chin. The fingers moved, the caresses were delicate and he did not accept them bowing his neck. It was easier to accept the loss than rejecting the warm hands of Damon and the caresses he loved and hated.

"I have a proposal for you." In his hands, Damon placed the knife. For a moment he looked at it stunned and still without assimilating folded his fingers around the handle. "You want to cut meat, right? And I have the meat you wanna cut."

Damon shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows. The dish with cold meat was driven, it was centimeters of falling from the table and shatter, and his stomach growled much stronger when he saw it going away. Damon's right arm lay on the table, showing the underside and the pale skin marked by the veins that ranged from a blue color to a green one.

"Come on, cut my meat." Surely it was a lie, but did not sound as such he knew for sure. He did not move any muscle, he would not fall into the trap as he did from the first day he met him. "Do it, Jon. Is not that what you wanted? I'm fulfilling your desire."

 _A trap, is a trap_. That is what continued in his mind although he held the knife firmly. _It's a trap, but you can kill him with that trap, so what's the matter?_ He missed the sweet touch of steel on his skin, once an old soldier told him he was similar to a woman. And he was good with steel, in the training of recruits the general Thorne always praised him, even when he had not a big dealing with the man.

The knife licked the skin, much above of it walked along the middle of the arm. The tip stuck in the vicinity of the elbow, it was not deep and therefore the blood began to emerge with a quarter of the cut. It was from end to end, visible, did not look like a wound that would make a man with a hurted heart and burning with rage, it was rather a mark that would leave the claws of a small scared cat.

"Is that all you got, Jon? I thought you were braver." Damon pulled the tail end of the wound and wet his fingertips with the small droplets of blood. He sucked them later. "Do it better, be strong."

He did it, not because it was an order of Damon but because he really wanted it, it was enough to remember just a little more so that his anger was real. He nailed it deep without thinking too much about what would happen later, the tip was nothing more than a centimeter away to touch the vein. He heard a slight huff spring out of Damon's lips, the fingers of the same twisted toward the palm and pressed in a fist, making the veins more visible.

"So, very well, good boy."

The knife proceeded, marking the scrape that was made previously. The blood was higher this time, his fingers soiled with it and the skin was colored conquering a more attractive tone. The knife stopped in the end, maybe at the first time, and rose to the hand of Damon that arrived before he could make some stupid move.

Damon took the knife of him and nailed it into the wood of the table, out of his reach. He tore part of the shirt to cover the wound, the flesh bulged between the fabric and the blood quickly stained it. And it was now that he thought about the later, he had to admit that he was scared about what was happening.

"Well, it's time for the punishment." Damon raised his eyebrows, with the tips of his fingers felt the humid of the fabric and shaded his lips with the blood collected. "Undress and wait for me with your hands on the wall."

His body did not respond the first time, he had to hear a "quick" leave the mouth contrary to move. The first thing that left his body was the quintessential big shirt, he turned his face as he undid the last buttons and did not find him in the room. He had him on his perimeter after the shirt was thrown to the ground, he was carrying a whip in his hands, the leather shone in contrast to the pale skin.

He trembled, he quickly removed his pants when witnessing the look that Damon gave to him. His hands were positioned at the same height of his head, maybe he should be resisting and defying him for his pride. He could feel Damon's heat from afar, it was suffocating to have him approaching.

"You know what this is, Jon?" Damon whispered in his ear. "It is often used in circuses and fairs to train disobedient dogs."

Damon's hands settled on his hip, straightening and pulling his butt forward, his legs spread and his back straightened. He felt the leather of the whip brushing his thighs, shuddered and his teeth gritted. The fingers on his pelvis slowly took off and was higher in the move away from Damon.

"Have you ever had a whip on your skin, Jon?"

"No, sir."

He take a deep breath, he could not anticipate the pain that would invade him or the strenght that Damon would use. The screech of the whip on the ground numbed his body and the leather touching his back stoked it. He screamed, his nails scratched the wall, his hip wiggled and his knees collapsed. The burning was filed from the time the whip appeared at his skin, a reddish hue remarked the way that it took on his back.

He recomposed his posture, his neck continued being high and his head upright and stiff. Neither could predict the second time that the whip reached his back and the pain of the first blow by the time of the distance grew from one moment to another. The blood emerged from this, from the cut at the end of the wounds.

Again and again, the time when the whip was coupled to his skin was growing. The wounds were more and more reddish, and thick by the blood that was outlining them. His legs faltered and he tried to do his trembling knees work. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes, he tried to hide themand what he got was that they increased.

And he could not overcome the pain, Damon prepared him for much worse things. The pain of the lashes was a joke compared to the pain that the needle and thread given the night before; even his own tugging of the tail was worse. Gradually his body became frail, although he wanted he would not have sufficient force to support a war.

"I want no more ... I'm sorry, Sir." He did not understand why he apologized, he did nothing to do it. But if he should say that for the torture to end he would say it a hundred of times. "Please stop, Sir."

Damon sighed. "Are you already tired, Jon? You result so boring." Damon turned to him, the whip was on the floor so he could feel relieved. The fingers tickled his neck and descended down his spine, the nails touched the marks causing his scream to be extensive. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Yes, please, Sir."

"You must promise me that you'll do better next time, you will be able to do it, Jon?"

"Yes, I'll do better, Sir."

Damon collapsed on the sofa and fell on his knees. He crawled to the gesture that Damon gave to him, slapped his thighs and distanced his legs so he could mold in the separation of them. His hair was caressed, slowly and gentle unlike the touch he had in his back. His eyes moved around the room, wandering through the table until finding the dish with the cold meat.

"You still hungry, Jon?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I have a new menu for you." Damon undid the button of his trousers, lowering it until halfway down the thighs. He stroked the rigid cock, nibbled his lower lip and looked at him causing the blush on his cheeks. "Would you like this?"

"Of course, Sir."

He took the hardened cock, wet between his fingers. His lips parted at the tip and his fingers spread across the trunk. He hesitated before touching it with his mouth, Damon's hand resting in his hair forced him to do it. His lips descended pressed on Damon's meat, salty as raindrops falling during the war and thick as the land of the trenches.

Breathing was difficult, he tried to do it through the nose but ended up opening his mouth a little more and grabbing air from it. His ups and downs were arduous, although he did not want it he was giving him the best of him. And it felt disgusting because of that, Damon's taste nauseated him, annoyed in his palate and burned in his saliva that descended down his throat.

"Yes, you're doing it good, Jon." Damon panted, his chest was rising agitated.

The fingers in his hair tangled and stroked them from the center to the tips on his neck. The yolks were planted on his scalp pulling his head and causing his cock occupy more space in his cavity. He had control of the movement of his head for a moment, it was calm and adaptable to himself, and when Damon took his head it was fast and pitiful for him.

The last ones were in his domain, but wasn't serene and used some more his speed, his lips also compressed his cock with more energy. The seed reached his mouth when his tongue was located wetting the tip. The heat from the liquid choked him and accordingly he coughed, Damon held his face and squeezed his lips preventing him to spit it. With effort he swallowed it, part of the semen trickles from the corners of his mouth and wiped them with the tip of his tongue.

"Well, you're very good, Jon." When being free layed his head on the left thigh of Damon. "I'll let you sleep on the couch tonight."

Damon took the pack of cigarettes and lit one, always he ate the smoke and the smell of cigarette never lacked and he hated to feel it, he cleared his throat when having his lungs full of the disgusting smoke. Also hated to feel it in Damon's hair, the smoke darkened the areas that touched and filled them with the foul smell that would not go away for days. And in the mouth it was worse, the tongue, teeth, saliva, everything became filthy.

"Come with me, Jon."

He sat on his lap, his arms tightened to his neck and his legs around his hip and back. Damon blew smoke in his face and made him bow his head, he knew that he hated that. The smoke not only would stay in Damon's hair, would also be on his own and would have to sleep smelling them.

"You will die for it."

"I know, but first I'll live ... I will live with you."


	5. Chapter 5

He had nightmares, his body sweated and his legs didn't stop of stirring. His dream was composed by scenes of the war, he recalled the occasion when a young man lost his legs in front of him and did not give aid, paralyzed just heard the screams, pleas and the sound of the painful cry. The next thing was the roar that Ghost launched when receiving the bullet in the right eye. He was crying at the time that Damon caressed his face, he woke with a start.

"I will not let you go back to sleep alone." He told sweet as the honey.

"I feel cold when I'm alone." He cocks his head settling it into the opposite palm. The delicacy of Damon was stormy when commemorating the times when angered him and forced him to give a punishment. "I think in a lot of bad things when I'm alone."

Before preparing to march Damon held him in his arms. The nails traveled his back, which arched as the descending progressed. The fingers were stalled at the start of the accessory adorning his pelvis and part of his butt. He moaned softly, it was impossible to get used to the pain and the fear boarded him when knowing he will never be able to bear it.

His quick hands rested above Damon's and put them away. Long after he noticed his daring and when breathing deep reconsidered, begging for that to not anger Damon. "Please do not touch me there, Sir."

"Why not?"

"It hurts."

Damon did it, this time the fingers were molded in his. "Today you will use suit and will not look as a dog, do you like that?"

"I like the suit, Sir." Damon waited for another answer and he couldn't please him in that. The lower lip was nibbled and when hurting it let out the words that Damon wanted to hear. "But I would still be a dog, Sir."

Damon fixed the neck of the dark jacket. The knot of his tie was pulled and for a moment he thought that he would pull the neck and would take his breath, a few seconds later life. His tail was sticking out of the pants and was uncomfortable to have it between the legs, it was wet and rigid by the alcohol that was placed in his wound.

"You got it, right? I need you tonight to be a good boy."

"I will be, Sir."

They took the chariot in the afternoon, at night they would be in Dreadfort, at the mansion of Bolton. Only one of them was there, the last son of the General Roose Bolton who had a permission to be absent of the war for four days. Damon did not speak much about him, he just told him that that night they would have fun.

To be sat on his tail was the most painful thing he felt after it was added to him. To support it he must raise a few centimeters his ass or just look out the window and forget his grief. But when Damon was examining him remembered everything and the suffering was greater.

"When will we get back home, Sir?"

"Go back home? Maybe in a year or when I get bored." Damon said paying attention to how his hands struggled to keep his hip on top. "Have no fear, you will get used and you will love to be here."

At the gates of the mansion was waiting Ramsay Bolton and his servants. Damon was the first to get off the coach, he followed him after ordered. Ramsay had the same height as Damon, long and dark as night hair, square jaw and stuffed meat. The eyes were the first thing noticeable in him, were too clear and caused many more chills than Damon gave so far.

Ramsay kept his eyes fixed while greeting Damon and smiled at him, white teeth and wide as that of the other. Ramsay led them inside the mansion, he had to climb the ladder and turn in the corners three times to get to Damon's room. It was twice as wide as that known, also had a sophisticated lighting.

"You'll dine with us tonight." He communicated and raised his arms so that could take off the sack.

"When will I pay?"

"You will not pay me, you will pay to Ramsay."

"He? I do not want to pay anyone other than you, Sir."

"I know, Jon." Damon kissed him gently, on the lips. He grudgingly accepted the intrusion of the other tongue and the sweetness that it entailed. Damon's hands in his cheeks transmitted some heat, which was lacking in that room. "Just think of dinner, I'll be there with you."

Dinner was composed of meat and salads, his portion was plentiful, much more than he had eaten over months. He hesitated when holding a fork and a knife, pay to Damon was hard and do it with someone else would be worse. Damon was not the most handsome man in the world but he liked him, Ramsay hopefully could denote some of appeal and when seeing him lick his lips the nausea detracted his appetite.

The knife in his fingers reminded him of Ghost and how the tail of the same was cut. The spasms shook him and cause the pain to appear. He cut the meat as if this was from Damon, he wished to do the same to him and not lose him in the attempt, Damon was all he had left and the only thing that needed now.

"I am sorry about Domeric, it was an unpleasant news."

"Yes, right? The departure of a young soul is always an unpleasant news. But it has its good side, maybe now I can be the favorite of my father." Ramsay laughed. "I may know tomorrow when the General return to the benefit party, will you stay until tonight, dear friend? I will not endure it if I'm alone."

"Of course, if Jon wish wants."

"Do you want to stay at the party, kid?" Ramsay asked with sharp eyes racing through his body.

A shiver made him give a tiny little jump, it took a few seconds to understand what was happening and get the right words to respond. "Yes, Sir."

Ramsay had an empty plate and he may have just take the fourth of the meat to the mouth, neither was allowed to continue. Ramsay moved away from the dining room with a glass of wine in hand, he went with Damon. He scratched his hands and looked at the food that would leave few more minutes, his stomach was still growling. He heard his name, did not know which of the two men asked it first, and hurried to catch them up.

He climbed the stairs quickly, in the last step would have fallen if the essence that was still retaining of his strenght hadn't denied. He was located at the backs of the men in end of the corridor, they went into the room on the left. Ramsay sat on the edge of the bed and Damon lit a cigarette in the corner that continued with a window.

The evening glimpsed through the curtains, the moonlight and the light of the stars lit up much more than the one that was lighting in the room. It smelled of roses and for some reason it was not a good aroma, it was the smell of withered roses and bathed in blood. The icy warmth of the room made him uneasy and bristled his hair.

"Damon told me that their services are the best, is my friend a fucking liar, little one?"

He swallowed, looked at Damon and instead of receiving the expected mercy, what he got was a gesture to satisfy Ramsay. "No, sir."

"Well, let me check it out for myself." Ramsay crossed his legs. "Undress for me."

He obeyed without complaint or delaying, he had no choice and had to make Damon proud, that was his only obligation. His jacket and his shirt were the first to discover his skin bruised by the marks that were gifts of Damon, and his pants accompanied them, the tail abandoned the union of his legs and stroked the back sides of his thighs. The discomfort began with intensity when bending his hip and lift the feet to take off the last items. His arms bend and his hands spread pretending to cover his long tail and the wires that connected it on his skin.

"Turn around, little one."

His legs at some point had to move, he did not notice when it happened and warned when being showing his back to Ramsay. His hands revealed his tail by the look Damon gave to him, the smoke hung, the air crashed in his nose and hair, between the gray smoke the clear eyes with that particular expression showed to him at that time couldn't be perceived and with that he only abided the orders.

"It's a great job. Not even God could have done it better."

Damon smiled and he stiffened, his fingers tickled the sides of his thighs wanting to return to his butt. The hatred that fed inside himself toward Damon was not enough, it haven't grew with what he did with Ghost nor because he will force him to obey, though it was increasing in huge measures for this; for just watch and do nothing.

"Now, little one, show how your inside work." Ramsay's voice was chilling his bones. "Come on, show me with your fingers."

His fingers separated the skin of his entrance, moaned and then bit his lip preventing another sound to escape of his mouth. His eyes met those of Damon, he hated the way he looked at him, he hated it too much and equally not having the strength to stop contemplating it. He never liked to keep an eye for so long and could not excuse himself in those moments, he wanted Damon's gaze over him, it was the softest in the room.

His middle finger was introduced in his cavity, did not reach the depth that Damon could. With the second, distanced them expanding his flesh and feeling a little brush of pleasure that subsided with memories. His fingers moved in and out, close together and fast, his teeth penetrated deeper into contact with his lips causing the tips to feel his meat.

His legs weakened with the trembling surrounding them, his tail was wagging with the harmony with which the fingers moved and the coat that composed it brushed his thighs giving him an excellent feeling. His eyes were still connected to Damon's when his teeth stripped his lips and the tiny presence of blood was buried by his tongue.

"Come here, little man. I can not keep waiting, I want to fuck you."

He clicked his tongue, Damon made a sign with his hand moving between his fingers the half-consumed cigarette. He went to Ramsay, who received him with open arms and a smile on his thick lips. He stood next to this, his legs squeezing each other were disunited by Ramsay's fingers getting between them.

Ramsay licked his fingers before wetting with them his entry, made sure to take a breath and try to think of something else, something he liked. His attempts to appease the displeasure were useless to the moment when Ramsay abruptly put his fingers inside. He screamed, the long nails were hurting his flesh and irritating him when moving with great distance between them.

"A tight boy, that's good." Ramsay kissed his neck, his head bowed and the moist lips amplified the area of possession. The aroma that reached his nose was like wet earth, was not pleasant and wrinkled his nose accordingly. "Lie down, little one."

His back adhered to the sheets, exquisite in his skin. Ramsay's legs imprisoned his and the body over him didn't admit to appreciate nothing more than the pale skin. His knees bend lifting his legs, Ramsay's hands were found on the inner sides of his thighs ascending to his hip. The hardened cock rested on his crotch, his pelvis was clutched and pulled to the other.

"I'll fuck you very hard, little one."

The flesh of his butt was pressed as the cock was adjusted around his entrance. The intrusion was quickly and without warning, his neck lengthened and his eyes closed. The pain was higher with Ramsay's fingers moving in his flesh and capturing it between them. His back arched and his pelvis shook backward to depart, getting completely the opposite.

The onslaughts were established without wait, each one more powerful than the previous; they were fast and slow at the same time, some consisted of a longer time, extending it in his interior and staying in him with no intention of leaving, and those were the main ones causing disease. His fingers dug into the back of Ramsay, he could not contain his discomfort.

Ramsay's hands held his hips and pulled it forward. His eyes widened when having his chest against the one of the other, the palms held his back upright. His cavity was released by a moment when his body was turned, the hands passed to grab his neck and his eyes returned to Damon.

"It must be boring for Damon just to watch, do not you think?" Ramsay asked in a whisper, the fingers caressed him the edge of his entrance and the tip of the index made a place between the cock that filled him. "There's still room for Damon in you, little one?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you hear that? He wants you here." Ramsay turned his finger inside him and his teeth rattled. "Come to satisfy this insatiable child."

Damon extinguished the cigarette, the cigarette butt fell near his feet. The shirt sleeves were rolled up. The sound of the belt buckle opening made him gasp, his pants fell and he felt impatient.

"You want me, Jon?" Damon's fingers settle into his jaw, lifting his face.

"Yes, I want you, Sir."

The irritation boarded him with Damon's cock engaging to the one of Ramsay. His skin was being torn apart, the pain was becoming in all that he will know that night and the tears would not allow him to have clear vision. His hands oppressed Damon's arms, the inclinations inside him made his nails to have a direct contact with the flesh.

Damon's thumb outlined his lower lip, cocked his head and the finger went down to his chin. He averted his eyes when the proximity of both was all that he saw, in his opinion it was an eternity what he had to wait to have the opposing lips on his. And had to pray in silence, Damon's lips were close but not enough to hook them to his own for what he was forced to tilt his head forward and get them on his own.

"Do not eat him by yourself, let me a part of the little boy." Ramsay said when usurp his jaw and turn his face, the thick and wet lips invaded the place that occupied Damon's lips. His upper lip was nibbled and pulled taking away a scream.

Damon tangled his fingers in his hair and brought his head back, threw a low curse, imperceptible to the ears of others, with the pain that was laid on his scalp. Ramsay meanwhile kissed his neck, the teeth scraped his skin and saliva helped in the marks that the suctions determined.

Damon was moving after Ramsay, both have the same time of difference and synchronization. His screams were restless, they were sharper when having his prostate being hit in so many different ways; each with its pain and particular pleasure, although both managed to be interesting. His hip trembled and his muscles weakened on the few occasions when they pushed together.

The first seed was placed inside him and the other was released after a few seconds, did not know exactly which was up to Damon or Ramsay. Damon emptied it instantly, Ramsay before following him with the semen slipping through the entrance. The fingers were fixed on the inner walls and when descending hauled the liquid on the tips.

"Suck it." He ordered him.

He obeyed even though he found it repulsive, it was the only way to get rid of Ramsay. His tongue swept through his fingers, squeezing them with the lips. Salty, tried not to breathe when swallowing , failed to do it entirely so the unpleasant taste caught him up with insignificance.

"I hope you have sweet dreams." That was the last thing Ramsay said.

Ramsay left him in bed, he pulled his legs to his chest preventing the semen to slide down his thighs and so his skin wouldn't itch. They were alone again, Damon light another cigarette and sat in his area. He exhaled moving away the smoke, it was tedious that om his hair the smell of snuff was installed.

"We're going back home soon, Jon."

* * *

 _I'm being so bad with Jon because I hate him... sorry_


	6. Chapter 6

His bones hardened, the wooden floor was colder than the ground. He picked up his clothes, his pants were stained with semen still wet what was running down the inner sides of his thighs. His hip hurt, when moving creaked and made him clench his teeth. Damon was in bed, his face was not so sharp when he slept. Since he didn't have a smile in his lips, the skin stretched and the wrinkles contouring his mouth were not so noticeable.

He opened the door slowly, the sound was niggling so that nobody could reach him and with effort could reach his ears. The darkness still filled the hall. He went downstairs quietly and slowly, not because he didn't want to be heard but because the pain in his body imposed it. The living was quiet, it was a time on which the servants could also sleep.

He went to the front door, he knew that little would achieve doing what he was going to do and that if Damon notice it would punish him. But now Damon was asleep and he had the advantage, although he was not near the city could walk more than half way in the rest of the night. By that time Damon would wake up and would not find him, neither would do it seeking for him. He just thinking in run and nothing else, he would do nothing against Damon and it was not because he wanted to protect him, wouldn't do anything that could make him find and catch himself again.

That would have done if the door had opened once, pulled the doorknobs hundred of times and didn't achieve more than make noises, luckily not sufficient high as to ascend to the corridor. And it was obvious that the doors were close, only a fool would think about opening them at that hour of the night. _You know nothing, Jon Snow_. He reminded himself.

He goes into the living room, would achieve break the glass of some window, make a noise that woke everybody, losing the advantage and however leave that place. It would have happened if the arrow that danced in the air had not brushed his hair, cutting the tips of some, and digging into the wall with fragility, it would fall in a few seconds.

"What do you think Damon will think about what you're doing, little one?"

When turning Ramsay grabbed another arrow, the bow extended and the arrow was traveling the air. He ran before it touched his face, staggered by precipitation and did not fall because his palm came in advance. His legs did not react with the power he needed, he was slow and the pain made him gnash his teeth, when trying to run with greater strength his teeth clenched much more together.

He reached the dining room, Ramsay followed him quickly, much more than the speed he possessed, while throwing arrows. Some brushed his hair, waist and legs, and the others were deflected. It was at the end of the room that an arrow pierced his right leg, below the knee.

He collapsed, covered his face on time so that which touch the ground were his arms and his face just got the impact of the fall. His uninjured leg bent and the wound was paralyzed, his nails scratched the ground. Ramsay came over, shivered when feeling the steps and tried to move, he didn't achieve more than screaming and the only ones that moved were his fingers.

"Should I use another arrow? Will you continue running?"

"No."

"No, I'm missing something, do not you think so, little one?" Ramsay crouched beside his face, he placed his fingers around the cheeks and lifted it. "A no, do you think that's enough?"

"No, sir." Ramsay did not deserve that title coming from his mouth, he wasn't Damon and was forced to tell it when he was next to this.

"Yes, that's much better."

He remained still while Ramsay took the arrow from his leg. He screamed softly, if he had known that the pain would intensify with the departure of the arrow would have preferred to have it in his bones. He did not get to his feet, he turned and raised his back, however, Ramsay took his hair roughly and pulled from them, dragging him. He hauled him to the stairs, on the way he wanted to take his hands to his and kept them tumbling in the air. The blood emanating from his leg led the way, the heels were sinking to the floor wearing out in the drag.

"Can you walk from here? I would not mind continue taking you, but you are a guest and I must make sure of your comfort." Ramsay shrugged. "I let you go if you promise that you will never run again, I don't have many arrows as to hunt you down."

"I will not run." The fingers slowly lift off of his hair, the discomfort of the tugging was just beginning to appear. "I promise you, Sir."

He climbed the stairs behind Ramsay, who at times turned his face to make sure he was still there. He did not return him to the room where Damon was located, they stopped before. He waited at the door, entered the room with the gesture that Ramsay gave to him and sat on the edge of the bed, beside the other.

He wet the tip of his fingers to clean the blood outlining the gap that was created by the arrow in his leg, he returned to lick them with the blood in them and his tongue and teeth were taking a faint colour red. Such as Ramsay's moist lips, reddish by the constant passing of the tongue.

"I know this is not the first time you do the same. You're a tough kid, Damon told me that you learn slowly." He was not fast nor slow, he doesn't learn, at least that tried to do. "How do you think Damon will feel if he finds out what you did? Very bad, right? His cute and little toy is insubordinate, he will feel that he has failed as a master. He will be disappointed and sad for you, you would not like to see Damon disappointed, right little one?"

"No, sir."

"Yes, I thought so. Then we could keep this a secret, what do you think? Out of sight, out of mind."

When he was young had to keep secrets, they were always for Robb that influenced by Theon Greyjoy broke the house rules. He never liked to save Theon's skin, but he did it his brother was involved. It wasn't difficult for him to keep safe those secrets, just hated them.

"I also know that you pay for things and I'm not very good at keeping secrets, perhaps with some incentive I could do it." Ramsay's hands were placed on his cheeks, his face moved up to be in the same direction as the other. "I would need you to pay me, little one. Can you do that for me?"

It had been a few hours since he paid for dinner. He eventually got used to pay to Damon, it was a simple act of giving and receiving, although he gave more. However with Ramsay was different, too much for his liking, he did not like paying Ramsay and the simple fact of remembering it disgusted him.

"I'm not a bitch, Sir."

"Of course not, the bitches are expensive." Ramsay laughed. "Now lie in bed and wait for me with legs apart if you don't want me to tell to Damon."

He glanced sideways behind his shoulder and reaffirmed his place at the top of the bed. Ramsay took off his jacket and then his shirt, when returned the clear eyes to him he frowned and pursed his lips. The fingers cornered his neck, taking some of his hair between them and lifting his face.

"What have I told you? For you this is lying down on the bed with your legs separated?"

he inhaled air gets stuck in his throat, the fingers pressed on his windpipe and forced his Adam's apple to do not stop moving. Saliva was piled in the corners of the lips and Ramsay's bubbled between the lips of this. The breathing began to fail after a few seconds, inhaling and exhaling was painful, it felt like hundred of needles were stinging his arm at the same time. His hands went to the wrists of Ramsay, tried to push him away and got to have him more and more into him, pressing harder.

His hands on Ramsay's wrists were not the best option so they slid down the arms to the shoulders and then to the neck of this. Still had the vigor to extend his fingers in his thick neck and the yolks were implanted in the bones, his wrists joined.

"What are you doing, little one?" Ramsay smiled and released him. He did not do it until the same Ramsay demanded he to do so. "You're tough, that's good."

Ramsay cornered his waist and pulled him close, lifted in his arms and going into the bed tossed him in the center of it. Before he managed to make a move his hands were joined and one of Ramsay's held his wrists in a rough grip. The opposite legs imprisoned his hip and all he could do was bend his legs with his knees.

"If you had been good both of us would be having fun now."

The sound of the belt buckle being unbuttoned echoed in the room and the leather flowing did not manage to have such momentum, although in his skin the impact was greater. The belt was placed on his wrists, precisely where the hand squeezed them. The metal of the buckle was embedding itself into his skin and when trying to take it off the discomfort increased.

"Pay attention, I'll explain this just once, little one." Ramsay drew his knife, the tip wandered through the air until be fitted between his collarbones. "Look at it right, see? If you try to do something stupid I will cut off every part of your cute body, little one. Do you understand?" The knife descended very attached to his skin, creating small marks where walked and was immobilized by the opening of the shirt. "I did not hear your answer, are you deaf? Or should I cut you so you really understand?"

"I understand." He forced himself to answer by having the knife deepening the puncture. "Sir."

His shirt was torn, he shivered by the cold breeze licking the skin and therefore the knife in his belly finally sank into his flesh. His teeth cracked, the cutting started from the end of his ribs and ended in the beginning of his navel. Ramsay licked the tip of the knife that was soiled with his blood and when releasing it took over the remaining in his belly. The tongue repeated the path of the knife carrying the blood and the teeth pressing behind made it to be released more.

His back arches having the palms of Ramsay on his spine. The tongue made sure to not miss any drop of his blood with a tough pressure that resulted soft and gentle next to the inclement scratching of the teeth. A little cry escaped from his mouth, low to not meet the demands of Ramsay.

Ending in his belly, the trousers was torn apart, not by the knife but by the rough hands opposite. His legs distanced and the space of them was filled with Ramsay's. The yolks surrounding his entrance, playing on the contour and slowly approaching to his inside.

"Yes, I want you this way, little one."

The fingers only created a time for the cock that was introduced in his cavity, taking away the air from him and making him squeal. His legs shook as the intrusion progressed, the nails of Ramsay settling in is pelvis made him feel weak and the thick lips on his neck gave him repulsion.

He cocked his head, the opposite lips were adapted with better accuracy. The thrusts were increasingly vigorous, he became accustomed to the outputs but the but inflows caused him a an everlasting suffering. The fingers of his hands hunched in the leather, scratching it, and his toes were curling with the twisting of his legs.

He tried not to scream, but with the fourth onslaught made his voice was exposed and his throat resected. The saliva dried on his neck making uncomfortable the waving, the teeth marked it with the saliva that instantly deposited the tongue that assured those marks.

Some of the pain vanished with Ramsay's seed implanted in his inside and the cock leaving him. He left the room just when Ramsay removed the belt of his wrists, the ejaculation warmed his body and before leaning beside Damon he cleaned his inside, tasting it.


	7. Chapter 7

He extended his arm toward Damon, his skin received various taps of his fingers before having the tip of the needle being introduced. His teeth crunched, the liquid slowly streamed through his vein and watered to himself that was faster and painless. He hated the needles so much as having to be in the war, never managed to endure the pain that they brought to him nor observe them kneeling in his veins.

"For what is this, Sir?" He asked when the needle freed his arm and could caress the wound. He tried not to have direct contact with the gap because the pain increased when touched.

"It's to help you, Jon. Tonight I need you to behave and I know that's hard to do for you, but this will give me the assurance that you will not have strength to fight."

That afternoon he was allowed to take a bath, the first thing that cleaned up was the dirt that Ramsay implanted inside him. Damon asked no questions concerning the wound on his belly, perhaps he already knew and these were not necessary. He himself wondered if he would punish him for it, he realized that Damon was not happy sharing his toys, however, he had done it once and then refuse became impossible.

The water was warm and it was comforting for his damaged skin, it was cruel to have to leave it. This time the suit was a greenish color and wore the badge of the soldiers wounded in battle, certain need to return to it invaded him when Damon buttoned the buttons of the center and bent the neck.

"Now I need you to show me your tongue."

"For what?"

"I have given you the right to ask? I'm your doctor and as such must have you under constant review to inform the minister if you are or not able to return to war."

"Will you tell the truth?" He was fit since he woke up in the hospital and saw Damon for the first time. In other times would have appreciated him to lie so he could stay there safely, but this was not at all be safe. It would be better to have a few more bullets in the body to continue in that state.

"Of course not, do you think I would let you go?" Damon grabbed the wooden splint of the briefcase and brought it to his mouth. "Come on, stop questioning me and show me your tongue."

His lips parted by the continuous request of the splint, the fingers on his commissures made it opened a little more. Damon took his tongue between his fingertips, the pulling made him throw a little moan. The splint pressed on his tongue, from the bottom to the top, a feeling of nausea almost made him close his mouth and tried to resist while Damon's fingers left his lips.

With the tablet out of his mouth, the fingers were placed between his trachea and demanded him to tip the head to a side, Damon's eyes were redirected to his neck and looked quickly to finally stop on his wrist. The thumb rests on the surface of the veins and felt his pulse, slow at the moment.

"As expected, your medical conditions are always so enviable."

"But it's not enough to go back to war, right?"

"You're right. It makes me feel proud that you begin to learn, Jon."

He could not die with honor, will only retain the title of bastard without any story of the war more than take a bullet in the belly. He could not have a thought to the memory, none beautiful lady will cry for him. He could not die with his friends, they are not many but the neccesaries for him.

At night he had a glass in his hand, smelled the cider and took a tiny sip. Damon greeted the General Roose Bolton, a man of cold and chilling look, and then he did so too. The man smelled of war, as expected of the generals, and he despite being a soldier nor had the smell of one. The next one they greeted was the Prime Doctor Qyburn, an older man of gray hair, soft smile and sweet look.

"I have finished the control already, Doctor. When you have time could look at it and evaluate it for yourself."

"I'd love to see it, but right now we must enjoy the evening. There will be time for regrets."

Damon says goodbye to Qyburn with a bow. He greeted some other diners just by education, he did it because he was forced. He knew a few faces, the more latent in his memory were the faces of the Lannister, especially in the one of smaller stature that gave to him some advice before starting the war. Some men in the right corner of the room called Damon, they looked more grotesque than Ramsay.

"I want to stay here, Sir." He said when seeing that Damon was preparing to go to them.

His arm was pulled to the opposite body, the drink in the glass was about to spill out by the impulse. Damon's lips approached to his ear, felt his breath caressing his hair. "Be careful, I'll be watching you. Be good and do not mount a show."

"I'll be good, Sir."

The eyes were over his during the separation, when speaking with the boys they were distracted in others, were a small seconds and then returned to his own. He kept them a minute and then turned to the crowd, he found Qyburn and moved toward him. He did it in a calm way, did not care that Damon knew, there were too many people to be punished. The man was focused on another old man, with whiter hair and wrinkled skin.

"Excuse me, Doctor Qyburn."

"In what can I help you, young man?" The man smiled at him, like a loving grandfather would.

"I know that Dr. Damon told you about the control, but I think itwould be better if you do one for yourself."

Qyburn cocked his head. "Are you trying to tell me that the resolution of Doctor Damon is unreliable?"

"No, I mean. It is just that I was not in my best condition at that time and perhaps the control does not really show how I am. I know I am in perfect condition to return to war and I wish that will be updated to the minister. "

"Do you want to go back? There are so many who would like to be here like you, is good to know you want to return. Your impulsive youth is quite enviable." Qyburn smiled at Damon, he did not dare to turn his face for the fear of having him behind him. He did it anyway, their eyes met in the light hair that were in the distance. "Okay, you can go tomorrow morning to the hospital and I will do it, but if it matches with the control that Damon did I can't deny it."

"I appreciate it, Doctor."

He finished the drink in the glass, saw Damon one last time and went to the dark corner, hiding between the walls and people nearby. The boredom accompanied him, waiting for the moment when Damon decides it was time to go home. To Damon's house and the bed primarily, it was more comfortable than the sofa, the floor or the very earth. He missed the feeling of care that Damon gave to him when being careful with his tail, unlike Ramsay that such as a beast was rough and violent. The strenght was lower too when Damon took him by force, however, after that would reward him with sweet kisses. He loved the kisses that he gave to him, he had soft lips and tasted like tabaco combined with cherries, and he liked that sometimes the lips weren't willing because he must crawl and ask him to kiss properly.

"Why are you single, little boy?" Ramsay's breath smelled of wine, too much wine. "Maybe Damon don't want you anymore?"

"He always desires me, Sir. I was made for his pleasure, I am of him."

"He is a selfish bitch, do not you think?" Ramsay laughed and did not accompany him. The presence of that man was annoying, from the beginning he was inappropriate and wearied only having him approaching or with his shoulder next to his. "In a few days I'll have to go back to war, did you know that, little boy? And I was thinking maybe we could have more time together."

"I can not, Sir. Damon wants me here."

"I know you do not want to worry Damon, it should not be fun having him angry, right? But that is why I also know you do not want him to know about our little secret and there is very little possibility that a drunken man can control his tongue." Ramsay leaned over to reach his ear, he whispered. "I'll be waiting in my room, you know how to get there. Do not make me chase you around the house."

A new glass was in his hand and emptied it in one gulp when heading for the stairs. He tried not to see Damon as he climbed them, take that look wouldn't serve for much. Maybe he could stand another punishment from Damon, would not be as painful as being in bed with Ramsay. But this would last a few days and Damon's punishments would be continuous, he would never get off the chain from his neck.

A chill ran down his spine as he opened the door and one more when being inside the room. Ramsay smiled with satisfaction when having him there, he would be pleased but also was frowning. With a gesture was located in the center of the bed, Ramsay followed him.

"Show me your chest, little boy."

He undid the buttons and Ramsay meanwhile took away his clothes quickly and with coarseness, an insignificant click of the tongue was his way of complaint. The fingers caressed his collarbone, down to his nipples. The yolks surrounded the right and tweaked it, the nails scraped the sensitive area. A groan slipped between his teeth, the pink skin was more and more over the fingers.

The yolks revolved around the nipple, which hardened and began to hurt. The discomfort was minimal compared to the particular pleasure that gave him the unexpected softness in the action of Ramsay. His thighs at the same time were warming and his member swelled accordingly. He squeezed his legs and the friction with fabric made the excitement to be higher.

"Damon told me you like to be a dog." The fingers continued through his belly, outlining the knife mark. "And I'd like to help you in your transformation, I know you will love to look like one. You already have a long and beautiful tail, but only have two nipples and it is impossible for a dog to have so few nipples. That's why I think we should do some changes in this regard. "Ramsay licked his lips, the fear invaded him with that signal. "Lie down and let me take care of it."

His body did not react until Ramsay's hands on his chest pulled him down. His hairs were placed behind his ears and the fingers fixed in his cheeks settled his face. His hands were taken over her head, his wrists were united together and felt the clink of handcuffs on his head.

"I'm ready this time, little boy. I would like you to use your hands but we both know you do not know the limits."

A handcuff cornered his wrists, was small so he could feel his cold and nonexistent skin and the iron in his bones. Two handcuffs more were fonud in his ankles, with enough extension to do his knees bend and his legs separated. He twisted when having Ramsay's fingers in his neck, when moving the skin of his wrists scraped and threatened to cut.

Ramsay rummaged in the drawer, his fist went up to his face and slowly opened before his eyes. In the palm was lying a round collar, thin, short and golden like the sun. "Look at it well, I have eight of these for you."

He did not try to free his hands, by now he understood that the only thing he would achieve would be have reddish skin and exposed flesh. He took a deep breath when Ramsay ordered to him, he closed his eyes the first time that the tip of the ring stuck on the erect nipple and in the adjacent watched as the skin was lifted and the iron pierced.

The pain he felt was the same with the whip of Damon, was intense when having the action and with the distance of the hand was appeased. With the first piece of skin cut off is body paralyzed while the ring was embedded below it he shuddered. He screamed, his teeth very close together were not enough to hide the screams.

The pain did not let he feel how the iron settled in the flesh of his nipples, but did feel the damage granted when the next ring pierced the skin a few centimeters below the nipple. The blood marked the space occupied by the ring lying on his skin, the iron blocked the exit of the same so the traveling was slow and sparse.

"Stop! Please stop!" His toes were curling and the spasms were recurrent, his legs twisted and his back arched. Tears began to peek on his eyelids and his vision crystallized.

"Now? Come on, little boy, I know you can resist. My understanding was that you are brave, is taht no longer true? Be brave and perhaps I'll reconsider it."

He could be brave if the burning of having the skin tearing wasn't so intense. A similar one was stabbing in his throat by the incessant screams, saliva soiled his face from the way of the commisures of his mouth to his chin. The cutting of the skin was getting slower, the gap was established more precisely and the suffering at the same time also extended.

Five, five were the zones of his skin that he had pierced when the weakness won in his body, he closed his eyes and and found less pain in the loss of consciousness. Upon awakening he had eight and dried blood. Breathing did not hurt in itself, but which caused discomfort was the movement of his ribs.

His wrists and ankles were released, with the shock of the same he caused a crack of his bones. The first thing he did was take his hands to the sectors concerned. At first brushed them, the fear make the pain increase and by touching really amplified. His teeth rattled, the nails scraped the blood from the sides and then the iron, looking for some place from which detach it.

"No, do not do that, Jon." His fingers stopped instantly, abided faster when the voice that reached his ears was that of Damon. "I like them and I want you to keep them."

He looked up and ensured that Ramsay was not around. "I do not like them. They are annoying and painful."

"You'll get used to them, you've done it many times." Damon came close, his breath was also of wine. "You have made Ramsay happy, he enjoyed your services. That's good, Jon, you make me feel good about yourself." Damon stroked his cheek, he cocked his head to the fingers. "And I must reward you for that. Tell me, Jon, what do you want?"

"I want to go home now, Sir."


	8. Chapter 8

Damon fulfilled his request. They left the mansion at the same time the last guest did the same, they arrived at the house when the night fell. Ramsay had pursed his lips when knowing the new news, were only three more days that he was there and certainly would want to spend those last days enjoying the services he offered.

Happiness was with him when being in the hall, he liked to be with Damon there, in that place where he sometimes thought he belonged. Damon took off his jacket and collapsed on the sofa, crossed his legs and lit a new cigarette flavoring the room they left after visiting the Bolton's mansion.

"You can sleep with me tonight, Jon."

"I do not want to sleep." He admitted with a blush growing on his cheeks. "I miss you, Sir."

The exhaled smoke turned the smile that Damon gave to him. "Is that true, Jon?"

"Too much truth, Sir."

Damon sat up, patted the sofa area next to him, indicating him with his clear eyes also to approach him, and then extended his arm on the backrest. He came up to him slowly following the path that the smoke shed through the nose made, he had sat next to him but stopped just in front of him with the cocking of the opposing head.

"Take off those rags, Jon. Show me your thighs." He said lightly. "Slowly."

He started with the buttons of his shirt, slowly as he was asked. The accessories in his torso and belly glowed as his skin was revealed, were shown completely at the time that the fabric collapsed so close to his back and his hip. He continued with his pants, slightly faster than his shirt but not much. His feet were lifted minimally and his knees bent heavily.

He was naked, stripped of any pride and used to have enough of that. His hands in a first attempt wanted to settle into his crotch, however, stopped on time and he knew that Damon liked to watch quietly and very thoroughly. He brought his arms behind his back and his fingers brushed the tail that at times he forgot he had. He raised the neck and tried to withstand the intense gaze of Damon digging into his thighs.

"Well, come near, Jon."

He obeyed quickly because he did not put restrictions, on the sofa joined his legs until his cock was lost between them. Damon turned, adequating the pelvis to be able of contemplate his side face, and scraping with his fingernails separated his legs. The fingers pressed on his flesh forcing him to make them apart and give him more space.

"I've noticed you have so many marks on your body, Jon. Very beautiful indeed, but none is only mine."

"You gave me the tail and the scars on my back, Sir."

"Oh yes, but those are not just my own. I've shared them and I want you to have a mark that is mine alone, that only I can have it and see it." The yolks deepened the grip of his flesh making him throw a little yelp. "Perhaps here, it's a good place and only mine, do not you think, Jon?"

"If you like, Yes."

"Of course I like it, Jon." The flesh of his thighs was released and a reddish shade showed where the fingers were early. "Let's see what we can do with your beautiful thighs."

Damon distanced his legs a few centimeters more and therefore he had to re-adapt his position. He inhaled, the cigarette ashes grew and fell with the touches that was given on the opposite end. The smoke was deposited in the air and part in his own nose, and at the same time his hands were settled in the departure of the legs and the burning fire of the cigarette accompanied them.

"Try not to move, Jon."

This is what we wanted to do, however, the burning tip of the cigarette sank into the skin of the inner face of his right thigh. He screamed with the same power with which the heat progressed up his thigh and his skin teared with the burn. Like the smell of tabaco, the smell of burning flesh adorned the air and the oxygen that transported to his lungs.

The cigarette withdrew, some black ashes covered the exposed flesh and the emerging blood that surrounded the rounded wound. A pink hue was outlining it, was darker near the scorched flesh. Before he returned he held Damon's wrist with strength to immobilize him and keep rejecting him.

"I do not want this, it hurts, Sir."

Damon raised his eyebrows and straightened his back, setting a long distance between the hands and his thighs. "Why do you think I care if it hurt for you?" The cigarette was located at the junction of the lips and when inhaling the fire increased, the smoke was one with the words. "No, I do not care, Jon."

The tie knot was untied and left of surrounding Damon's neck. The hands came back to him, and even without the cigarette moved backward. He trembled and stood with his hands on his arms, there was no sense in trying to evade him. The tie wrapped his wrists from behind his back and pressed so much until position them on top of each other.

"If you ever move I'll also bind your legs."

He swallowed at the time the fire in the cigarette was nearer and hastily the same reinstalled between his thighs He gritted his teeth and tried to not disperse the squeal between his teeth, the new place where the ashes attacked him was a few centimeters from the first wound. His toes curled, his thighs didn't suspend the trembling and his knees faltered.

"Don't move, don't move, Jon." Damon warned him. "If you keep moving you'll ruin it and I shall have to start from scratch, would you like that all my hard work go to waste?"

"No, sir."

Hold the breath every time the cigarette was embedded in his skin and broke it until show his flesh, blackened by the ashes. He twisted a few seconds and contained because Damon's eyes demanding him to do so, the greenish eyes gleamed and his pupils dilated.

"Good boy, Jon. You're doing very well."

The pain caused that the tears wet his cheeks and fall to his chin. Damon inhaled for each new wound, little and the necessary for the fire to be penetrating and the pain never subside. He wrinkled his nose for the mixture of smoke and the smell of his own flesh being burned.

The sequence of the wounds was straight to the visible end of his thigh and from there formed a curve towards the beginning. A shade of red and pink adorned the environment, blood soiled the sofa and dragged the ashes of the lowest injuries. In the left thigh which leave marks were the fingers of Damon who crowded the meat and kept his legs apart, stiff and trembling.

Damon inhaled one last time, the cigarette butt collapsed in the floor at the same time the smoke evaporated from the mouth. "You can stop mourning, Jon." The index finger stroked his lower eyelids pushing the tears in the folding of the middle phalanx. "Come on, stop mourning."

The mark was a D, not very neat but after all was a D from Damon. Gently the fingertips grazed it, causing tiny moans from his part. The nails took the loose skin and that bound to the other for a small strip. Damon smiled when his tears dried and his sob was nothing more than a series of gasps.

"You want me, Jon?"

He hesitated, waited until his breathing reconstituted to respond. "Yes, Sir."

"Want me to give you pleasure?"

"Please, Sir."

Damon kneels down in front of him, nibbled his lower lip by the sight. The palms rested on his knees, the nails scratched his skin amd with his face so close to his thighs, the warm breathing crashing against his flesh shook him. Damon licked his lips and with them touched the skin of the inner side of his right thigh.

The lips approached to the wound, slowly and wetting with saliva the rest. They separated at the start of the wound, the tip of the tongue grab the remaining ashes and the blood that was chilling and stuck disturbing the cleaning. It was painful in the short time when the teeth appeared from the edges and were coupled in the center, the tongue was soft and cushioned the suffering.

Without blood or ash and only with saliva the burning flesh was appreciated in his excellence, in a brown and red tones. Damon's lips were stained with blood and the commissures darkened by the ashes. The teeth scrape the tongue when finishing, planting the ashes in the teeth and swallowing part of them.

His testicles were taken, the nails digging into them but not hurting, it was a heady sensation which could result pleasant. And his cock was the first place where he felt that pleasure growing, betraying himself the blood pooled in it and the heat spread through his hip and thighs.

"You're hard, Jon." Damon smiled contentedly. "Now show me how you give pleasure to yourself."

Damon pressed again, he stood up, removed his tie from his wrists roughly and allowed he himself to continue. He did it after stroking his wrists and calm the hurt on them. He watched Damon waiting for his action, the impatience sparkled in his pupils, and lowered his head moving his fingers to his cock, the longest extending in the trunk and the thumb remaining in the tip.

He cornered his upper lip in his teeth and from the lower pierced the moans. The initial descending was languid, his thumb gently pressed the tip accompanying the others, and when ascending took a little more momentum, as greater intensity at the tip. With the contiguous the pain was an old unrecognizable story beside the gloating currently generated.

Damon's fingers were planted in his jaw, lifting his face and connecting their eyes. "Look, look at me, Jon." His eyes wandered and also stagnated in the opposites. "So, look at me and tell me you do this for me. Tell me I'm the reason for your pleasure."

His fingers rose and fell faster and stronger, and were coupled with greater vehemence to his damp skin. He saw Damon's smile, the whitish teeth being licked, the wet and red lips; and the in which could see himself. He liked to see him, nice, he was nice but not so much to be the reason for his pleasure.

"Yes, you are the reason for my pleasure, Sir."

The thumb and little finger stuck between his cheeks, moving the skin near his lips and making a few grins. "What do you think when touching yourself, Jon?"

"In you, Sir."

He didn't thought, tried not to think to not deprive of pleasure the act that would cause him revulsion. And he did not want to delve deep into the dark pupils of Damon, nor the pale skin that hid the juicy flesh. He focused on the green halo with lighter and darker stripes, it was easier, there was nothing there to make him think.

"I'll cum, Sir."

"Well, then it's time to stop." His face was freed and the hands in his cock were set aside so that Damon take their place. "We will play a game before, it's not fun to end so quickly."

"A game? I want to cum now, Sir."

"No, no, Jon. You must wait, trust me, you'll like it."

Damon took another cigarette, he did not light it on and the only thing he did was to position it on the tip of his cock. His hands moved by intuition and the forced obedience he learned until then helped him to interrupt it at time, that make Damon happy. The matchsticks were leaning against his face, so close to his eyes that he could not distinguish something else.

"Listen, Jon, I'll light the cigarette if you cum before I give you permission to do so I'll let you burn." Damon emphasized each word and drawled so he understand each one perfectly. "If you stand it one minute I'll let you cum."

He did not understand, not until Damon's fingers held his trunk, began to slip and he could not bear the need to end with the burning inside himself. Nor would bear an external burning that would end with his flesh. He twisted whining softly, he should resist, because it was the only thing required.

"Sir ... please."

"Please what, Jon?"

"Please stop, Sir. I can not stand it like this... you do it so well, Sir."

Stronger, only managed to do Damon do it more strongly and thus his chances of winning the game decreased. "I will not do it now, Jon. There is still much time left."

He counted one second, two, three, four and five, no more. His concentration was enough only for five seconds and in the sixth the pleasure guided him, he lost control on his body and the heat conquered him. And that minute passed too slow, was frustrating, his eyes reddened by tears. The cry increased when perceiving that the precum was boarding the tip and wet the cigarette.

"Do not cry, Jon, you know what your tears cause on me. Stop them, just a little bit more left."

He knew that Damon was a cheater at the time the second number sixty passed and began a new count. And he won, won although his seed soaked the cigarette and threw it to the ground. The beating of his heart paralyzed in those seconds that finally had his release and his breathing stirred more.

"You won, Jon." Damon said as something unexpected. "You did well."

He managed to breathe easy when the matches disappeared from the perimeter and Damon kissed his forehead. "Can we sleep now, Sir? I'm sleepy now."


	9. Chapter 9

Damon was sleeping when he took the keys and shook them. His suit was not so flawless, some wrinkles were formed in the center and a small stench emanated from it. He made no noise, or maybe yes, but Damon did not notice. The morning sun was suffocating, he blinked several times for his vision to be complete.

His walk was calm when could have been agitated by the quick trot. He thought he could again try to escape if he had something else but Damon, however, he did not. Arriving at the hospital on foot was faster than he expected, Dr. Qyburn was waiting for him in the study. The doctor examined his mouth, feel the splint on his tongue still caused him nausea and that saliva seep from the corners of his mouth. Then he requested to discover his chest and instead what he showed was his back, it would not be a good time for him if anyone else knew of his transformations. And Qyburn did not say anything about it. The cold stethoscope made him tremble.

"You are on the best conditions, young man." Qyburn smiled and he also grimaced at that and by the statement. "I'll communicate to the Minister about this and you will receive the confirmation soon, I recommend that you keep these conditions."

Oh, poor incredulous soul, what kind of fool would return on his own to war? He was that stupid that knew what cold and frightening was the war, which saw brothers fall in the bloody ground and peers lose members, who personally suffered the pain of the bullets. He wanted to return. What kind of stupid would abandon such beauty? He certainly. What kind of fool would reject the tempting proposals of Damon? He, he would always be the answer.

On the plaza the children run from one side to the other, were small as Bran, Rickon and Arya. He remembered that time when were visited by the Lannisters and the little Tommen, during the afternoon chased Rickon and had to run to get away from Bran, tearfully begged to his mother to let him stay overnight with the small Stark's, the chubby of pink cheeks was really happy on those nights he was hiding on the bed of Bran.

A young boy of no more than fourteen years sold bread shouting, his stomach growled when hearing him and requested to Damon to remember how accomodating and sweet he was in the night, that deserved a great lunch and maybe a dessert that was not just the tangle of golden hair. The child looked like him too at fourteen and in his first job. He rode his bicycle to deliver the papers among neighbors, Ghost accompanied him and then it was no bigger than an ordinary dog. He liked to do it, winning many coins in those days were sufficient for a whole month of sweets and his father accepted it, was mainly allowed by his uncle Benjen who encouraged him to learn from life.

Only once Robb accompanied him and they competed to see who sold more newspapers in less time, he won of course. That was the best morning of his first job, however it was not as fun to Catelyn who convinced his father so Robb would not accompany him again and consequently make him give up in that.

He hurried, remember was not good. The rays of the burning sun helped him to remember much more and in the dark of the house was no place for such a thing. Anyway he enjoyed the energy he took from the sun and then from the darkness of the room inundated with the aroma of the tabaco that impregnated all corners, fouling everything it touched.

"Where were you, Jon?" Damon waited lying on the sofa, he was stroking his soft and long hair. "For some reason I didn't wake up next to my bitch today, you know why, Jon?"

Damon stood up, came close to him with slow steps, the slowest he have ever used. His legs moved backwards, his back was prisoned between the door and the wall on the sides of his neck were placed the opposite arms, the palms were extending and the nails bruished his cheeks.

"You will not answer me, Jon?"

His head did not fall, he had his neck stiff and his eyes on Damon's, firm and without shame. "I visited Dr. Qyburn for my return to the battlefield."

"Oh, that's why." Damon sighed, not for the irritation but for exhaustion. "Do you plan to leave me, Jon?"

"Yes." He swallowed, Damon's eyes was not one that could be held for long. It was toxic and sickened you just for watching it. "Yes, Sir."

"Why? Isn't all my love enough, Jon?"

It is, but I hate you."

"Why would you hate me, Jon? I feed you, keep you warm and safe, I give you all my love and make you feel good. I find no reason, Jon, can you explain it to me?"

"You're no good, for anything good. You're killing each piece of me, Ghost, my body, everything from me. You let the bad things fall upon me, Ramsay, you let Ramsay had me when I thought I could love you." He inhaled, his blood was pumping swiftly and his whole body was warming as it went through his veins. "I hate you for everything, really hate you."

He might hate him for having him wet when he least needed or for taking him in various ways, but that would not be true because after all he liked Damon to surround his hips by the strong arms and fingers to ambulate on the inner faces of his thighs approaching to his crotch that yearned for them anxiously.

"I hate you for what you did." Damon's hands were brought closer and closer to his face, the fingers stuck to his jaw with force making him impossible for any movement. "I hate you."

"Will you still hate me? Or do you ever get tired, Jon? You're a stupid dog who does not know anything, how would you know you hate me?" With the small gap between the two faces he could feel the warm breath hitting against the tip of his nose. Damon knew, Damon knew that was the way in which the hatred turned into love of pleasure. "Oh? You hate me so much?"

Damon's lips approached, wet because he licked them before put them closer to his dry and red ones. There was no distance, except for the one his fingers closed into a fist created. He had thought and no matter what he did not repent, he wouldn't let Damon make his hate become love so easily. He was quick when raising his hand and place it on the opposite soft cheek, so beautiful marked with his knuckles.

"Oh, dirty dog." Damon said with a large smile. "This is why I can never let you go, you are better with me."

The palms were adjusted to his shoulders, the nails dug on the web and managed to cause discomfort in his skin. The legs were mixed in his thighs and due to the pressure these exerted his hip faltered and his body collapsed on the compass that Damon imposed. The sound of the impact of his back against the floor was as sharp as the pain he felt for the same.

"And you're so strong now, right Jon?"

Damon's legs cornered his hip and the palms continued pressing on his shoulders burying his back on the floor. "Yes, you still are."

At the same time, his hands also seized the contrary shoulders throwing them to the left direction. Luckily for him his strength was the required to have Damon under his body with the legs together thanks to his own who oppressed him and the neck stiff because of his hands that did not provide any inclination, and the main thing was that he was lying on the ground and taken by surprise.

His right hand was the one that was closed, the bones of his knuckles were put pointed and the veins stood out on his pale skin. One, the way his hand was connected with Damon's face was exciting and the small sound of complaint that was expelled from the same's lips was music to his ears.

"I hate you." He repeated.

He understood that Damon liked him that way too, was entirely possible for that strong man put him back on the ground and punish him, but it was more extravagant let the dog have fun for a moment so after that the punishment was greater and had an extensive justification. There was nothing better for the master to have a justification, a true reason to infuse sanctions and give meaning to life.

The blood began to flow from the nose in the third hit his knuckles gave on his cheek heading toward the tip of it, his fingers soiled and therefore stained each piece of skin he touched. His hand got tired, he had to shake it after finishing every blow and bend a little more his elbow so that the move was not so heavy. It was so painful to him as it could be for Damon, if he could feel the suffering, his bones crackled when joining to the nose.

He stopped at the time the blood was all he saw on his knuckles and Damon's lips were tinged with a reddish, intense and appetizing color. Also, the teeth that showed in the smile were painted with blood, it's color wasn't as intense because the saliva but still was bright.

"I hate you so much." His breathing was becoming dense by the wiggling of his hips around the other and by the stiffness in his cock that was bigger with each new breath. "I hate you. I hate wanting."

Damon launched an irritating laugh and wiped his nose, breathing part of the blood. "I do not want you, Jon."

Damon managed to get rid of his grip and let him kneeling on the floor with a swollen, painful and wet cock. The hand he used to hurt his face, now he certainly regretted of having ruined his beauty, and stared at him when discovering the tongue to lick the blood on his knuckles that was sliding to his wrist.

The tip of the tongue passed gently through each gap between the bones, pressing harder on the top of them and carrying the blood that stuck to all the sections of his hand. Saliva droplets collapsed on the floor and some splashed his clothes, at first the fluid color was pink and with the second was tinged getting lighter and lighter.

"Will you punish me, Sir?" The thumbs removed the saliva accumulated in the corners of the mouth.

"No, Jon." Damon stood up and with a gesture invited him to do the same. "Come, come with me, I will make you something to eat."

"But I have not paid for it. I have to pay, please, Sir."

"No, no, you're misunderstanding me, Jon. You are my guest and therefore you should not pay, only pay the whores that belongs to me."

"I belong to you, Sir."

"No, you don't, Jon."

* * *

The letter informing him of his early return to war arrived at the house at night. Damon let him read it without any foreplay, he was grateful for that but also bored, it was boring when nothing wrong was accompanying his actions. And Damon took it after he read it, a small grin on his lips was formed in the reading and nothing else.

The train left in the morning, it was a sunny day. He met faces, names, voices and new bodies; was not very interested in them, in the war was not good be interested since that same man who once gave you a smile the next day was with his eyes fixed to the sky and blood stuck in the ground. And he knew the danger of the interest, he became interested in a young doctor with long hair and of the color of the sun, and nothing good came for him with this senseless interest which for his misfortune was still dormant.

Damon gave him a cigarette before he left away from him and the heat he had, told him that soothed the pain and desire. He would not use it, no, because he preferred to keep it as a lucky charm, all the men in the trenches had one and now he do too. And will preserve it until the war ended, with or without him.


End file.
